Happy Halloweener!

Trick or treat from your favorite forest pirate.

Annie Proulx's Latest

I recently picked up Annie Proulx's latest collection of short stories, FINE JUST THE WAY IT IS. I'm two stories in, having read "Them Old Cowboy Songs" -- which appeared previously in The New Yorker, and which my friend Lynn sent along a few months ago, knowing how much I love the historical American West, with its blood-filled rough and tumble -- and "The Great Divide."

The inside flap says "Proulx's characters try to climb out of poverty and desperation but get cut down as if the land itself wanted their blood," which it does, of course, and which it succeeds in claiming.

I've just started the third story (I'm reading out of order), which features Duane Fork, "the Devil's demon secretary." I suspect this story won't end well either, which is its juicy appeal.

Belly Waders

Steve took this photo of long-billed dowitchers at the Conaway Ranch last week. Similar to short-billed dowitchers, this species is found more often in fresh water, where the birds' long bills are better suited to wading belly deep.

Dowitchers winter in fresh and salt water, and on mudflats, and breed on wet tundra. Estimated populations of breeding birds and migrants in the U.S. and Canada is 500,000, roughly two dozen of which are represented here.

Meine Gute, Ich Bin Dumm!

So I'm thinking, four years of high-school German, two years in college, I can handle this, right? Guess what? Es ist nicht passiert (translation: "It ain't happenin")!

We're three weeks into the 12-week class, and already one third of the students have dropped out. I think I know why. We signed up, expecting to learn how to hail a taxi and order bratwurst, in the event our husbands really do take us to Austria, as they long ago promised they would. But what we're getting is far more difficult. We're conjugating verbs! And not just the easy ones, either! We're learning word order and negations and vocabulary words like das Anmeldeformular and das Nichtraucherabteil und all that other schtuff!

I am stunned at how much I've forgotten, and how slowly it's coming back. To Steve's credit, he's trying to lend a hand -- setting his GPS unit so it navigates in German, and shouting "Nein!" whenever he can.

We'll see how it all plays out. My first test is tomorrow, and I'm determined to hang in there. I've got to -- Herr Busch says es ist verboten to quit.

7th Annual Winters Barn Dance

Scott Williams and Mary Louise Frampton invited us to their home to help celebrate their 7th Annual Winters Barn Dance. Scott and Mary Louise live on five acres with two beautiful barns, one of which Scott uses as a workshop. The West Nile Ramblers -- five Yolo County musicians -- set up there and performed throughout the evening (Western Swing; Jazz; Americana). Their style and sound is reminiscent of the bands we've heard in Austin, Texas, and it was a real treat to feel, for a time, we were back in the Lone Star state.

Dinner was delicious and the company was great. We had a terrific time, and hope Scott and Mary Louise invite us to Party No. 8. (Same time next year? Our calendars are clear!)

Top photo: The Western Nile Ramblers
Bottom photo: Scott Williams flippin' garden burgers
Photo cred: Steve T.

Mr. Bluebird's on Our Fencepost

Here's a migrating western bluebird, taking a breather on our fence. Still no sign of the sandhill cranes. Where the heck are they?

Happy Together

Just returned from three days in San Diego, where I helped Jena with a few wedding details. It rained while we were there, as it did in Folsom. Steve said he got up Saturday morning to take some pics near the pond (freshened by the rain and filled to the brim), when he came across these two guys (red-eared sliders?) sunning on a rock. Temperature was about 75 degrees.

(I can hear a flicker calling as I type this!)

Dog-Sitting the Bird Dog

I'm dog-sitting Country today, Maya and Erich's black Lab pup. Oh mama, I'd forgotten what it was to have a puppy in the house. I thought I'd prepared for his arrival -- stashing behind closed doors the obvious items I knew he'd head for right away: a basket of birch sticks on the floor, near the bookcase, and another tall basket filled with wheat straw and decorative flowers. It never occurred to me he'd get tangled in a lamp cord as he squeezed between the wall and the sofa, or that he'd bury himself in the strawberry patch outside, in search of the single green berry left on the vine.

We've walked twice already, and I do believe I exhausted his puppy energy: he's sleeping at my feet in my office, where I've draped the floor-length curtains over the hard drive and barricaded the stairs with his crate (which he has no interest in at all, despite the cozy pad I placed in there, along with a stuffed-wiener toy).

Maya's picking him up in about an hour, and I know I will miss him. We've bonded, and having him here was an important diversion -- a chance to concentrate on something other than the writing (and the rejection), and to revel in his exuberance.

I think I've fallen in love.